Today, I have felt conflicted.
I want to read more. I want to watch more shows, dramas, series, films. I want to blog more; write more; say more. I want to say less; do more. I want to get out more; I prefer staying in. I want to craft more; creative pursuits frustrate my perfectionist nature.
I want a new job; I couldn't ask for better benefits. I want more money; I have plenty to live on. I want to drink more alcohol; but why? I want to drink less alcohol; but I hardly do already. I want to consume less dairy; for the cows. But what is pasta without cheese? What is tea without milk?
Tea with an alternative milk is a coagulating nightmare. It doesn't mushroom up to the top when you pour into the cup; it drops, densely to the bottom, like it doesn't belong. It has a life of its own, it is lava bubbling up to the surface, constantly shifting, changing, moving. It tastes okay; I could get used to it.
I want to feel settled. But I've been told that in my twenties it's perfectly normal not to be so.
Flitterbox: Crowded House ~ Weather With You
Flitterbook: We Were Liars ~ E. Lockhart
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